


Southern Comfort

by justcallmeIVY



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallmeIVY/pseuds/justcallmeIVY
Summary: Merle Dixon was the last person on earth who you thought would give a shit about anybody but himself. But the man had a soft spot for loners. And that's what you were.Merle Dixon/Self-Harming Reader
Relationships: Merle Dixon & You, Merle Dixon/Original Female Character(s), Merle Dixon/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	Southern Comfort

You’ve cut too deep this time and now there’s blood all over the tent floor. You throw your overshirt onto it and wipe it up as best you can then bring your arm to your chest and slide outside. You need to get to the water and clean it up before it attracts the attention of the others or walkers. It’s dark out here but with one arm out of commission and the other supporting it, you aren’t able to carry a lantern and instead rely on the moonlight to help you down the small walkway and rush to the lake. Stumbling on this and tripping over that. You think of them as you make your way down so carelessly. Your brother, sister and mother. All of whom were torn into ribbons right in front of your eyes by neighbors you’d known longer than your runaway father. People who cared for you since the tender age of three- people who were also dead.

You come to the water and kneel at it. There’s no tears that escape your eyes because they’d dried up a long time ago, that’s why the cutting helps. It gives you an emotional release that nothing else does. You’re about to stick your arm in when a hand wraps around your shoulder and you look up to see the frightening half of the Dixon brothers looming close. You startle then fall back onto the cut arm and cry out. He makes no move to help you and your arm returns to the cradled position it was in before.

“Don’ wan’a puh ya arm ‘n there darlin’, shit’ll make ya sicker than a man who sticks his dick ‘n a mule.” His back is against the moonlight and it reaffirms just how hulking he is. Merle squats down and holds a hand out. Your heart is racing by his sudden attendance. “Ain’ gon’ hurt ya fancy lady. Done ‘nough a tha’ ya self.” You chew on your lip and think about the risks. It doesn’t seem like he has ill intentions at all and so you lay the back of your arm on his open palm. He brings it close up to himself then tuts and clicks his tongue. “Well fuckin’ ‘ell, did a numb’a on yaself didn’ ya?” You stay quiet and he looks over. “Got anotha shirt?”

“What?”

“Got anotha shirt?” You didn’t want to answer, the question felt unsafe. “Oh fuckin’ ‘ell, course ol’ Merle’s tha fuckin’ cunt who gotta tear ‘is shit up for a damn city woman.” He lets go of your arm and your eyes widen when he grips the bottom of his singlet and lifts it high. You shift yourself back and begin to whimper.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You beg softly. He freezes for a moment, then lets the singlet fall back down.

“I ain’ a fuckin’ rapist ya bitch. I ain’ even lookin’ at ya skeleton ass- uppity lil shit ain’ ya?” He says roughly. You feel guilty instantly. “Ya need ta wrap ya fuckin’ arm ‘for ya blackout ‘n die.” He pulls the singlet all the way off and tears the bottom of it like butter. Quickly he lines up the fabric at the beginning of the cut, loops it around the limb and looks up. “’s gon’ fuckin’ hurt fancy lady so bite ya otha arm.” You do as he says and when he tightens it your teeth sink into the skin and you let out a muffled moan. “Now hol’ it up.”

You do just that. The thumping and pulsing in your arm is worse than the cutting was and the man throws his singlet back on. You’re too busy floating around in your own world of pain to really pay attention to him until a shuffling sound catches your interest and you look up to see him with his hand out again.

“Need’a get ya ass inside woman.” You look at his hand again and back at him. You still can’t make out his expression but he helped you and so there’s a slither of trust there. A hand goes into his and he helps you stand then lets go. “Why’d ya do it?”

“I’m sad.” The reply is honest and he laughs at it.

“Well, fuckin’ do some oth’r shit.” Your brows come together while he steps away to create more space.

“It’s not that fucking easy."

“No? Well ol’ Merle’s got drugs if ya wan’ black out ‘nstead?” He offers easily, like it was normal to do so.

“No. Those are bad for you.” 

“An’ cuttin’ ya shit up ain’? Least ya’ll die happier bein’ high on rocks den bleedin’ out by a blade.”

You realise then just how monumentally different you are regardless of the background or personality. He's a tweaker and you’re sober. You should have picked up on the signs a lot earlier- but at least he was nice.

“I’m fine.” He lets out an amused chuckle and stretches out.

“Nah, ya ain’ tha’s why ya fuckin’ did tha’ and told me ya sad.” He sighs and faces you completely with his arms crossed. There’s a long silence before he continues. “Dun do tha’ shit ta yaself fancy.”

The glare is instant. Your face is exposed to the light unlike his so you know he can see it.

“Why the hell do you care? We don’t know each other. This is our first conversation.”

“I see ya wanderin’ ‘round woman, all mopey and alone. I’m a lon’a too, buh I goh lucky wit’ lil Darylina. You didn’. Us kind gotta look out for one anoth’a.” He replies simply.

“Is that why you’re out here? You’re following me?” He laughs heartily and you feel embarrassed for what he’ll say next because it seems like you were the last thing on his mind.

“Get off ya fuckin’ high horse lady. I came ouh ‘ere ta smoke a bowl ‘nd saw ya dumbass trippin’ down tha hill.” He cracks his knuckles before continuing. “I’m gon’ need ya ta reassure ol’ Merle ‘ere sugar, cause he’s worried ‘bout ya. This ain’ normal shit and it’ll only get worse.”

“Why do you need my word?” And why are you worried about me, you think.

“Cause this is fucked up. If ya sad talk ta me, if ya hate me talk ta Darylina. He’s soft like ya. Ya don’ need’a do this ta ya’self. Shit’s hard- yea. Buh ya makin’ it harder.”

Maybe he really was just trying to be nice but you’ve never spoken to this man before and you sure as hell did not need to promise him anything. But he seems like the stubborn kind and so you grind your teeth and answer stiffly.

“Fine. I won’t.” He rubs his hands together then points one of them up the hill.

“Well das dandy fancy pan’s. Now get back ta ya tent and ol’ Merle’s gon’ carry on ‘is night.” You roll your eyes and move around him to return to the camp. You owe Merle nothing and you will do whatever the hell you want.

*

It’s been a week since your run in with Merle Dixon and you haven’t spoken to him since. He leaves you alone and does whatever he does but every once and a while Daryl will give you a nod when your paths cross. The group here is flimsy and there’s a lot of competing egos and personality clashes in it. It’s enough to make you realize how much you don’t want to be here anymore. You spend the morning helping the women clean, barely listening to their conversations but nodding along with what they say like you were. You’ve already made your mind up on what you want to do and stole one of the men’s blades when they weren’t looking since yours went ‘mysteriously’ missing the day after you spoke to Merle.

You’re deep in the woods now. You had hoped to come across a walker to throw yourself at but all of the ones you see have arrows in their heads already. So now it’s left up to you.

This spot is nice enough.

With a flick of your wrist the blade is unsheathed from its handle. You fall onto your knees and cut your hand to check how sharp it is, it’s decent enough to get through a windpipe. With one last prayer and the smiling faces of your family in mind, your eyes close and the metal presses against the skin of your neck. You only manage to slide it less than an inch across when your wrist is squeezed so hard that you cry out and drop it. When you look up Merle is the one you see, his expression is furious and it panics you instantly. He kicks the knife far before yanking you up with a grunt.

“Wha’ tha fuck are a doin?! Ya fuckin crazy bitch. Tha’s tha fuckin worse way ta die!” His volume stings your ears and makes you feel small. But the shock wears off fast and you remember why you’re out here.

“Let me go!” You scream while struggling to pull yourself away. “I’ll fucking stab you before I kill myself if you don’t do it!” You continue to struggle against him but the man is made of concrete and he easily keeps you in place.

Your threat is nothing anyway, one half-assed slap and he could knock you into next year.

“Ya gave me ya word.” He growls. Brows together and creasing a line between them.

“I don’t care! My choices aren’t yours you hick. Fuck off!” He doesn’t flinch at the insult. He’s been called a lot worse no doubt and something so generic bounces off of him like styrofoam.

You kick at his legs and he waits until the steam runs out and you’re left breathing heavily. When you stop resisting he lets you go with a frown. For some reason or another you find yourself wrapping your arms around his middle and bunching the back of his shirt with your hands. You feel it then, a wetness on Merle’s shirt that tells you that you’re finally crying. After so long of nothing it comes out like a burst dam and you can’t stop. Your body is shaking and his hands are on your back while his head rests on yours.

“Ya gon’ be alrigh’. Shit’s jus’ hard at tha’ momen’. Life ain’ tha same way.” He says.

After a while the sobs turn into sniffles and then become whimpers. He’s warm and hard, like a stiff hot water bottle that makes you feel a comfort you hadn’t in a long time.

“I don’t want to be here Merle.” You admit. The grip on you is tightened a little more. “I hate these people, I hate what we’re doing, I hate everything.” He puts a hand on either arm and keeps you in place so he can step back. There’s nothing particularly soft in his expression, but he does seem aware and his attention is yours completely.

“Hate it all baby doll, buh don’ let it kill ya off. We’re all gon’ die. Buh die fightin’ fa somethin’, helpin’ someone- ya don’ like these people? Hell, neith’a do me or Darylina. Buh it works fa now, it ain’ gon’ be forever.” He replies.

You shake your head and break the stare for a moment.

“I can’t help anyone.” You whisper. “I couldn’t help my family so how the hell can I do anything?” Your gazes meet again. “These people don’t need me.”

He lets out a scoff and rolls his eyes. You didn’t expect something like that in such a sensitive situation but it does make everything feel less tense.

“Ya don’ know tha’. Ya migh’ be tha one cunt ‘round who will kill a walker tha’s about ta bite someone. Don’ blame yaself fa wha’s already done. Ain’ no manual on how ta survive a dam’ apocalypse and keep ya people ta’gether.” There’s nothing in his words that feel forced.

“I should have done more.” You say softly.

“Do more now.” He counters.

“But what if I do something wrong? What if somebody needs my help and I fuck up again?” The tears threaten to come back and you have to chew on your lip to keep it together.

He shakes his head.

“At leas’ ya fuckin’ tried fancy ‘n tha’s wha’ matters.” He stands tall again and brings you in for another hug that feels more intimate than it did before, like he cares. “ Ol’ Merle’s gon’ teach ya a few thin’s. Shit that’ll help ya feel strong an’ safe.”

“Like what?”

“Fightin’, huntin’, how ta kill a dam’ walker so ya don’ feel like ya can’. Shit that’ll make ya see how important it is ta be alive fa yaself an’ other fuckers.” He lets out a sigh that you feel deflate in his chest. “Ya ain’ gon’ be alone again.”

“You don’t know that.” You reply with a scoff.

“I fuckin’ dam’ well do woman. Only a Dixon can kill’a Dixon. An’ Darylina ain’ killin’ me yet.” The comment doesn’t make any sense to you because it isn’t true but you don’t correct him. His words feel nice. “And if he do, then ya still go’ ‘im. He’ll watch ou’ fa ya.”

You laugh at the comment and if your head could shake you’d do it.

“We’ve never spoken before Merle.” You say. “I doubt that.”

He lets out a laugh and once again you’re thrown off.

“Well don’ cause he’s tha only reason I knew ya fucked off ou’ ‘ere. An’ why ya didn’ get ya ass eaten by a fuckin’ walker. Cause he don’ wan’ ya dead neither.” You loosen your hold a little and the pieces begin to come together.

“He saw me come in here? Those arrows were his?” You ask.

“Sure as shit did. Boy walks like tha wind. Got a head’a ya ta kill ‘em off while I followed behind. Told ya woman, us lon’as gotta stick ta’getha like flies on shit.” He boasted proudly.

Despite the crudeness of the comment you hold Merle tighter and the tears come back again.

The Dixon brothers were the last men on earth that you ever thought would give a shit about you, yet they did. They cared enough to keep you alive, to show you that they were worried and gave you the time of day when nobody else has. Because they were alone too.

You pull far enough away to still be in his hold and he looks down, eyes widening a little as you tug him down by the front of his singlet. You stretch high enough to reach his cheek and plant a soft kiss on it. When you pull away from the embrace Merle stands tall with a high brow then looks you over slowly. He hasn’t said anything yet. But you know that whatever comes out isn’t going to be as platonic as it was when he was comforting you.

He lets out a low whistle.

“Well goddam’ fancy, if I knew ya would’a done tha’ ol’ Merle ‘ere would’a turned ‘is charm on ta get a little more.” He says throatily with wiggling brows.

Your eyes roll and you wipe at your face with a tired sigh.

“Don’t ruin the moment Dixon.” You say dryly.

“Oh I can make this momen’ even bett’a darlin’. I’m a givin’ man with a lotta love in ‘im.” He says playfully with a wink that you can’t help but smile a little at.

You walk around him and find the blade easily. The weight of it is heavier than you remember. Maybe because now you realise how close you came to leaving because of it. The scent of sweat and something like burning plastic comes close and you look to the side and see Merle staring back. You hold it out for him to take but he shakes his head.

“Shit’ll keep ya safe an’ give ya life instead’a takin it away. Hol’ on ta it.”

The sentiment is something you didn’t expect to come from somebody like him. But you take the advice with a smile, sheath the blade and pocket it. Instantly Merle wraps an arm around your shoulders that feels like a tree trunk and directs you back to the camp while whistling. Strangely enough it feels good to be held by him. A part of you wants it to stay that way even when you do get back.

“Merle?” You say while looking up at him with a smile he focuses on. “Thank you.”

He shrugs and let’s out a long sigh.

“Shit das wha’ friends is for fancy! Buh now it’s time ta show ya how ta skin a squirrel so ya can make ol’ Merle ‘ere some food when he too pissed ta cook.”

Squirrel?

“Why the hell can’t you make it? You have hands.” A laugh vibrates through his thick chest and his tone switches back to the flirty one he gave you after the kiss. His eyes brush over your tense expression and he grins.

“Cause tha’s wha’ _lady_ friends is for sugar, well, tha’ and kissin’ ol’ Merle’s cheek.”


End file.
